Sacrifice
by edxwin-elric
Summary: Royai One Shot/Angst - When Riza realizes she's pregnant, Royai has to make a difficult decision.


Rating: M (NOT smut)

Pairing: Royai/Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye

Disclaimer: I don't own _Fullmetal Alchemist_.

Word Count: 1809

Title: Sacrifice

Description: Royai One Shot/Angst

When Riza realizes she's pregnant, Royai has to make a difficult decision.

A/N: Inspired by art by B. Griveros.

Any feedback is always welcome. Seriously, your reviews are life. Thank you for reading!

* * *

 _ **Riza**_

I wake up feeling sick. _Again_.

I instantly want to cry.

But not because of the nausea. As much as it's unpleasant, it represents something I really want. Something I already know I have to give up. I can't have this happiness. It would ruin everything I've worked for—we've worked for.

I'm just afraid it will kill me to do it.

"Are you okay?" Roy's voice is rough with sleep, and I know he's thinking about the same thing I am.

I told him a week ago. He didn't say anything. I know he knows what we have to do. I just asked for a little more time. I wanted to hold on as long as I could.

But I can't anymore.

"I want you to call Dr. Marcoh," I murmur, keeping my face hidden, my back turned to him in the bed. "Today."

He inhales sharply, and his scarred hand lands on my hip.

"Are you sure? We can wait–"

"I'm sure," I interrupt, my voice sounding flat. "I want to get it over with."

I just know the longer we wait the more attached I'll get, and it'll only be harder. Better to do it now and be done.

He's quiet for a long minute before his lips land on my back, right between my shoulder blades.

"I'll get him on the phone," he finally says quietly. "And I'll call in to work for both of us."

I nod, ignoring the lump growing in my throat.

He leaves the bed, and I shut my eyes. I listen to him in the bathroom before he goes to the phone in the hall. I hear him calling the office. He's smooth with the excuses for our absence. People probably suspect we're together, but you wouldn't know based on his explanation.

After he hangs up, there's a long silence before I hear him pick up the phone again. He doesn't want to do this either, but he agrees it has to be done.

Their conversation is short. He asks that Marcoh come to his apartment, and, after a few one-word answers to questions I don't hear, the call ends. I haven't moved from my spot in the bed when he comes back, sinking into the mattress beside me.

"He's on his way," he informs me gently. "I had a talk with him a few days ago, so he knew this was coming."

I choke on a sob, and Roy hears it.

"Damn, Riza. I hate this."

He slides his arms around me and pulls me back into his chest, holding me close.

"It has to be this way," I whisper, more to myself than him.

He doesn't reply, burying his face in my neck instead. I slide my hand along his forearm, clutching it tightly. I just need something to anchor me.

We're still tangled up like that when the buzzer rings for his apartment.

"That's him," he announces, his voice sounding shredded. "I have to go."

I'm reluctant to release him, but I know better than to put it off. Dragging this out won't make it any easier.

A few minutes later, I hear him open the door. There's muffled conversation followed by footsteps in the hall.

Dr. Marcoh follows Roy into the bedroom and sets his bag on the dresser. He looks over at me, and I'm grateful when he doesn't say something seemingly innocuous like, "good morning," or, "how are you feeling?"

There's nothing good about this morning or about how I'm feeling.

Instead, he gets straight to the point.

"You're sure about this, Ms. Hawkeye?" He doesn't look at Roy for his permission, only mine.

"Yes," I answer firmly. "I want it done."

"It won't be pleasant," he warns me, but I'm well aware of that.

It already isn't.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

He nods, and turns to his things. Roy stands next to the bed with a blank look on his face. Like he's trying not to feel.

"You'll have to remove your underwear," Dr. Marcoh turns back to me.

I shift in the bed, lifting my hips and ridding myself of the fabric, leaving me in just Roy's shirt I slept in.

Without being told, I bend my knees, just as Dr. Marcoh reaches for the edge of the sheet covering me. He pauses and looks up at me and then at Roy.

"You might want to hold her hand."

Roy looks startled, his head turning toward me. I'm trembling, even though I'm trying to be strong.

"Riza–"

I feel a tear escape down my cheek, and he lowers himself onto the bed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

"Are you ready?" Dr. Marcoh looks up at me from down by my feet.

"Yes," I whisper. "Get on with it."

* * *

 _ **Roy**_

Riza is digging her fingernails into my arm that I have across her chest. She's biting her lip, and I know she wants to scream. She's whimpering around it. And crying. God, so many tears.

Mine won't fall. They just sit there, burning my eyes and my throat. I want to break something. This pain is too much. Seeing hers… I want to burn down the world.

"There," Marcoh says stiffly, standing up to his full height. "It's done."

I feel Riza relax in my arms, slumping against my shoulder.

"I'm leaving some painkillers with you, and…you can expect some bleeding and cramping over the next few days." His voice is as grim as I feel.

"Thank you," Riza murmurs, and I feel my gut twist.

What a fucked up thing to say. To be thanking the man who killed our baby.

Of course, that's what we wanted.

But not really.

"I'm sorry," Marcoh replies quietly.

Riza nods, her hair, damp with sweat, rubbing against my skin.

"Doctor," I call to him as he packs up his instruments. "Your discretion on this matter would be greatly appreciated."

"I won't say a word."

Without waiting for my response, he grabs his bag and goes, leaving the two of us to our misery.

* * *

 _ **Riza**_ • _One week later_

I haven't been back to work. Roy made excuses for me, something about the flu. I tried to convince him to let me go back, act like everything was normal, but he was firm. I needed to rest.

He wasn't wrong. The two days after were…painful. Dr. Marcoh wasn't lying about the cramping and the spotting. But now, I'm feeling better.

Physically.

I can work. Roy needs me there. And I need the hell out of here.

"I'm home."

I hear the sound of him shedding his clothes as he comes down the hall toward our room. I'm sitting on the bed, petting Hayate, who's been stuck by my side since…

"Don't ask me how my day was," he goes on instantly, dropping his coat on the floor, followed by his shirt.

"Only if you don't ask me about mine."

He pauses and scans my face. I look away, and bite my lips.

"Have you eaten today?" he asks me casually, but I know he's worried.

I haven't had an appetite the last few days.

"Some fruit," I confess.

"I was thinking takeout for dinner." He goes to the closet and stashes his boots.

"Roy," I whisper. "Don't."

"You said you were fine." He turns back to me, losing his casual tone. "That you were ready to go back to work."

"I am."

"You're not." He crosses his arms over his bare chest. "Your face is pale, and your eyes have dark circles. You don't eat. When was the last time you showered?"

I blink and feel my brow furrow while I think. It must've been…before?

"You gave me a bath." I remember suddenly. "After."

"That was six days ago." He frowns.

I reach up and touch my hair. Ew. I didn't even realize it was that oily.

"Come on. Let's go."

He pulls me off the bed so that I'm standing in front of him. He finishes undressing himself, and quickly moves on to me. I don't say anything. He's not leaving it open for discussion.

Once we're in the shower, he washes me first—shampooing my hair, and then gently soaping the rest of me. It isn't sexual at all. Just…intimate. He holds me under the spray when he's finished. Letting the water wash over both of us. Mixing with the tears running down my face. Hiding them.

He washes himself quickly after that before shutting off the water, and grabbing some towels. I let him dry me. When he's done, and working on himself, I go into the bedroom, my hair still wet, and lie down on the bed, naked. I don't feel like getting dressed. I just want to be still.

When Roy comes out of the bathroom, he pauses in the doorway, looking at me. I watch him drop his towel and cross to the bed, climbing up from the foot. He hovers over me, his elbows resting on either side of my hips, before lowering himself down. His chest is pressed against my sex. I turn and look out the window, just as one of his hands slides over my waist, resting on my belly. I feel his chin drop, resting on the space above where his fingers are. His other hand curls around my arm, holding my elbow.

I don't have any more tears, but his gentle actions are making my chest ache. I reach up with one hand and blindly find his head, burying my fingers in his hair. My other holds onto his bicep, the strong muscle there grounding me. His chin moves, and I feel his lips against the skin over my womb.

"We did the right thing," he whispers, calling my attention to his face.

"I know."

"It'll get better," he goes on, setting his chin back down. "I promise."

I don't respond to that. I know he's right, on some level, but…there's part of me that I don't think will ever get better. I think he has that too, but it won't help to say anything.

We stay like that, him resting on top of me, until the sun goes down. It isn't until my stomach growls beneath his hand, that he moves.

"I think I should get you some dinner," he murmurs, sitting up.

"Yeah." I nod. "That would be nice."

We dress side by side in silence. When we're ready, he tucks me into his side and walks with me to the kitchen, where I sit at the table while he cooks. It's nothing special. Not a huge deal to an outsider, but it's a step for us.

The first of many we'll have to take before we get past this.

But he's right. It'll get better. We'll heal. And this is how we'll start.


End file.
